


Written in Blood

by Talullah



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Horrifying October
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: Finduilas finds a disturbing sight. (WIP - I started this for the Horrifying October "Written in Blood" prompt. More chapters to come.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

Finduilas stared quietly at the torch-lit wall. By her side Gwindor retched. She tried not to think what memories the gory sight before them arose. At their feet lay the corpse of a dead cat, the supplier of “ink”, flies buzzing about it. Despite the suffocating heat of the room, she shivered as she reread the words.

“Dead by fire be upon you all. Morgoth shall prevail.”

She shook her head. “Wash it off,” she ordered to the servant behind her. “And bury that poor thing. I want the traitor who wrote this caught.”

She took wide strides towards the door but Faniel called out to her. “Lady, this is evil. It’s… It’s a sacrifice to the Dark Lord and a curse too. Shouldn’t we do something more?”

Finduilas shook her head. “No. This is vandalism of discontent vermin. Perhaps one of those Curufin left behind.”

“Finduilas,” Gwindor started. “You know that many already think I was released as a spy…”

Finduilas pinched the bridge of her nose. “Faniel, you and your boy are bound to silence on this. If you are scared, I will clean it myself. In fact,” she added, straightening her back, “it is best. Off you go.”

Faniel lingered, her shaking hand clasping her son’s shoulder. The boy was not apprentice to Celebimbor yet but they had an arrangement and he came in, every day, just before dawn, to make sure the fires were revived and burning hot by the time Celebrimbor arrived.

“Go,” Finduilas urged. “Go and keep quiet. Do not be scared. This is nothing.”

As she watched as Faniel and her son left the room, casting the wall a last, worried glance, her certainty diminished. Was it just a stupid prank indeed? Was it the work of a bitter wretch? Or was it something darker…

Behind her, Gwinder shuffled his maimed feet, bringing to her mind a nauseating image of his amputated toes. “I didn’t want to tell you before,” he said. 

“Tell me what?” she asked, avoiding his gaze.

“This is not the first one.”

A rush of fear flooded Finduilas. She shook it off. “Where, when? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was just outside my room. I thought that it was because I was in Morgoth’s thralldom… You know how those who escape Thangorodrim are treated.”

Finduilas bit her lip. She felt deep sorrow for Gwindor, for what he had become, but at the same time, whenever he mentioned his ordeal, she felt enraged, angry at him for his foolishness, for his brokenness.

Trying to stave off her irritation, she started analyzing the conundrum before her. “So, first you, now Celebrimbor – this is his back room and I have no doubt that this was meant for him. What did yours say?”

“The same thing.” Gwindor moved to pick up the cat. “We had better hurry. Celebrimbor or his apprentice might come in at any time.”

“Yes, the day is about to break. He keeps water in the forge – I’ll wash this. You take the cat.”

“Can you manage alone?”

“Yes. It’s still fresh.”

Finduilas moved swiftly to the adjacent room, the forge proper, where Celebrimbor kept most things. The offense had been in a room he used for changing and keeping his drawings.

She found a pail, filled it with water from the tank and carried it to the back room. She started washing the wall with a rag but, with the heat in the room, the blood had already started to dry. She went back to the forge to find a hard brush or a broom, but when she returned to the room, Celebrimbor stood before the wall.

He turned as she entered. “Finduilas.”

Finduilas frowned. “I am sorry. I meant to have it cleaned before you came.”

“That was considerate of you,” Celebrimbor quietly said, testing the waters. Ever since he had taken sides against his own father, he made a point to stay silent in the council room and carefully avoided Finduilas and Orodreth. Finduilas saw in his caution a message – that he would not thread in his father’s footsteps now that he was left alone in Nargothrond – but at the same time, her cousin’s attitude vexed her.

“Celebrimbor,” she started but then she noticed he was not surprised. She lifted an eyebrow. “What is going on?”

He ran his fingers through his hair and tied it up with a leather string. “This is not the first one that I saw, that is all. Was there a dead animal?”

“A cat, yes.”

“That would explain the larger script. The one they left by your mortal friend’s door was smaller, but then, they only had a rat.”

“Agarwaen?” asked Finduilas, incredulous. “Why- how do you know this?” Celebrimbor’s subtle animosity towards the man had not escaped Nargothrond’s rumour mill.

“It doesn’t matter. Listen, Finduilas, there’s someone dangerous out there. Let me take you to your rooms. You shouldn’t be wandering alone in the halls.”

Finduilas straightened her back. “First, I was called here. Second, I can fend for myself very well, if needed, as you well know. Third, if there is someone who is deranged or if this person is really a servant of the Dark Lord, it is my duty to find him or her.”

Celebrimbor squinted at Finduilas. “Fine, as you wish.”

“Now… what can you tell me about the other incident?”

“Nothing much. There were a few threads of fabric caught on a nail, presumably from their clothes. Agarwaen kept them.”

“I see.” Finduilas stood for a moment thinking. Her eyes roamed from her cousin to the wall, to the place where the cat had lain, then back to Celebrimbor. “We had better clean this,” she said, moving to pick up the broom she had brought from the forge.”

Celebrimbor held her hand. “I can do it.” Before Finduilas could insist, he squeezed her hand. “Don’t do anything without talking to me first, alright?”

His concern touched Finduilas as much it annoyed her. “Alright,” she conceded. “But let me know if there are more of these. Promise that.”

Celebrimbor promised.

“I will go to Agarwaen now.”

Celebrimbor pressed his lips before speaking. “Be careful, cousin.”


End file.
